Diagnosis for One of the Damned
by Kiki's Fan Service
Summary: James T. Kirk has been through hell and back. Can you blame him if he's kept it to himself this long? - Focuses on Tarsus - Warning: Descriptions of violence. Only McKirk if you really want it to be there...


Series: Diagnoses for the Damned  
Title: Diagnosis for One of the Damned  
Pairing: None (if you really want to scratch the surface, there might be a teeny speck of Bones/Jim. But not consciously)  
Universe: Reboot  
Warning: Descriptions of violence

James T. Kirk was sprawled across his bed in the dorm room he shared with Leonard McCoy, his scruffy old doctor of a best friend. He had a hand draped over his eyes and an abandoned PADD next to him, stylus clenched tightly in his other hand. He had stolen another one of Bones' PADDs about psychiatry and the way brains work. The subject fascinated him, and was intricate enough to busy himself with for a few hours while he waited for Bones to come home from his late night class at the Academy. He had the class, incidentally about dealing with mental illness while in the field, twice a week. Jim wished he didn't, because even just reading Bones' PADDs ended up with diagnosing everyone with different neurological disorders and things of that nature, linking things to himself and hurting inside as he linked them to his dearest childhood friends… if you could call them that.

Jim just didn't want Bones to start diagnosing HIM.

It wasn't like Jim didn't know what he was dealing with. He knew most of the things that were wrong with him at this point. He knew that he flinched at bright lights and screeches, he knew he had panic attacks consistently. He understood that everything was a coping mechanism; he knew that he had been hurt too many times to care about anything or he ended up caring too much. He had heard all about obsessive-compulsive disorder, about attention deficit hyper disorder, about autism and asylums. He knew the sound a whip made before it slapped onto flesh, he knew the metallic smell of freshly spilt blood and the musty, dirty smell from dried blood caking the hands of the executioners and the taste of blood, his own and others mixing in his mouth. He knew that he was never going to recover from his severe trauma, both physically and mentally. He had a map of scars spread across his entire body that had been too far gone to be healed by the dermal regenerator. And more than that, he had scars from the bodies on the streets, from the fear that laced his body.

He still heard the voices, screaming, begging for mercy or help or something, anything.

He still heard those words that had sealed his fate, the fate that he had scampered away from, trying desperately to flee as the death toll rose higher every day, and every minute they got closer.

He still heard him.

Kodos' words had echoed through the too-silent streets, ringing in Jim's ears as he had realized that he was one of the 4,000 people who Kodos had decided to be executed. But Jim had fought. And he had survived. He had looked Kodos in the face, seen the devilish, glinting, bright orange hair on his head and face as he loomed over all who came near him, no matter their stature. His hands on Jim's throat, squeezing, and Jim relishing it, the last time, finally, he would die, finally, the hell would be over… But he had needed to continue, for Kevin, who had lost his family and only had Jim left, for Tom, who had always been there for him and were waiting for him. They knew what Kodos was like, and they were there, waiting with him. And he fought, digging deep in the governor's filthy hands with his own bloodstained fingernails. The screams echoing-

The door slid open and Bones entered the room loudly, grumbling cantankerously about this cadet or that teacher or some other incopitent nurse as he slid off his shoes and filled the empty, silent room with noise again. Jim quickly sat up and tapped the PADD off before tossing it away and grinning half-heartedly at Bones.

"Wazzup, my ever loving Bonesie?" He asked with fake cheerfullness, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes to make Bones laugh. It worked. The doctor's deep chuckles echoed through the room, making it feel lived in, instead of haunted.

"Jim, you would not believe what sort of stuff we had ta listen and read about in that damn class. Gruesome stuff, goddamn. I'm a fucking doctor an' it's hard to swallow."

Jim smiled at him, "Can't hold a little blood, Bones? Going soft on me?"

Bones scowled at him. "No! I just… it's a hard core thing we're learnin' about."

"Sorry. What is it?" Jim really was apologetic. Bones getting offended by his jokes wasn't usual, and typically meant something really serious was going on.

Bones was scowling, deep brown eyes sad. "The Tarsus IV massacre."

Jim froze. His eyes widened and he tensed, not moving a muscle as he stared at Bones, thanking every deity he could think of that the survivors identities were kept secret.

Bones didn't seem to pay attention as he continued, "Yeah, they're talkin about the different kinds of trauma that the people went through, those poor 4,000 people who had to live with that…" And he shook his head sadly.

"4,009." Jim muttered under his breath. No way were they going to skim over the 9 survivors who weren't supposed to live.

"What was that?" Bones asked, looking up slowly.

Jim avoided his gaze as he repeated, "I said, you mean, 4,009 people. Your forgetting the Tarsus Nine. They saw Kodos in the flesh, they weren't supposed to live. You can't forget them."

Bones stared at him. "Wha-?"

Jim cut him off. "And while you're listing different traumatic conditions, remember the ones they don't concentrate on, the less dramatic ones, like OCD and ADHD. They still count."

Bones stared at him. "Jim. How do you know so much about this goddamn massacre? Were you obsessed about it in high school or something?"

"Let's go with 'or something'." Jim muttered, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't meant to say anything, but it had already been on his mind and he couldn't keep it in any longer. If there was anyone he could trust to keep his trauma a secret, it was Bones.

But he was still talking. "And they played us that sound clip they have of Kodos addressing the people of the colony. How did it start? Somethin' like 'The revolution successful'?"

Jim had started reciting before he could think, the memory so clear. _"The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."_

Bones stared at him. "Like that?" Jim asked, knowing the answer before he had even started speaking.

"Why the hell do you know that, kid?"

Jim smirked coldly. "You really want to know, Bones? Fine. I'll let you know my little secret.

"I am one of the Tarsus Nine.

"And I'm not supposed to be alive right now."

Bones didn't move, didn't even breath as he stared at Jim in shock. Finally, he came to, and started ranting at the kid, even though it was the last thing Jim needed. "You can't just keep secrets like that, Jim! That's insane! What if someone had set off a trigger? What if something happened to you? I'm your best friend, god damnit! How could you do that to yourself? To me!"

Jim couldn't help it. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he layed down on the bed and rolled over so his back was to Bones and his face was to the wall. He felt the hot, angry, heavy tears rolling down his face. It had taken years to be able to do that again, and even longer to stop.

He was shaking. His whole body was quivering as he released his silent sobs and Bones' words kept repeating through his head, making him feel weaker and weaker, more so than any blow he had received.

Bones had silenced by the time his tears and shaking had slowed enough for him to become coherent again. And yet, Kodos and the Butchers' voices were playing over and over in his head, repeating words, sentencing his loved ones and friends to death, ordering innocent people to doff a blindfold, if they were lucky. Laughing at requests for last words. Crying FIRE as Kevin's family was shot down. Cursing as they threw acid on Tom's face, cackling at his screams of terror and pain. Taking dozens after dozens of Jim's new friends and leading them toward their death as Jim tried to run and hold on and flee and stay at the same time.

Bones sat down on the side of the bed, and Jim rolled over so he was resting on his stomach, watching his best friend's somber eyes look down on him.

"This explains a lot, Jimbo. I hate to say it, but you know its true."

"I KNOW, Bones! That's why I didn't want to tell you in the first place! I don't WANT to have to explain things and have people tiptoing around me like I'm some fucking pussy! I'm strong, I don't believe in no win secenarios, and I'm not going to let fucking Kodos take this strength away from me again! Are you with me or against me, Bones?"

His eyes were manic and his voice was half crazed. Bones just stared at him.

Jim whispered into the comforter, his hands clenching the fabric and his eyes squeezed shut, "It took me years to learn how to talk again. Kodos tried to snap my neck, but he got my vocal cords. I went through so many surgeries, so many phychiatric treatments, just to talk and cry and live even a little bit." He looked up at Bones, his eyes wide and tearful, fully open and innocent for the first time, maybe in his whole life, "No one could help me, Len, not really. I had to help myself. You know why?"

Bones was shaking as he murmured, "Why?"

"Because I don't believe in no-win scenarios."


End file.
